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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276811">moira</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>#freedream, Dream SMP Lore, Dream Smp, Dreamon, Exorcisms, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pandora's Box, Possession, no fr hes going through it, non canon elements, sapnap still hates dream... sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:07:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,437</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276811</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>moi·ra | \ ˈmȯirə \<br/>Definition of moira: individual destiny ; the will of the gods. FATE.</p><p> </p><p>after realizing dream's been possessed by a demon since fundy and tubbo's failed ritual, the characters decide dream's been more dreamon than himself for a long time and start performing a final ritual. george doesnt agree.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fanfic Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span><em>It’s now or never.</em> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get away from him.” The voice was quiet but cold. Firm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy half turned, looking up, freezing as the cold tip of a blade pressed to his throat. Someone hissed in protest but no one moved. The weapon shook slightly. Dread filled his stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“George..” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said get the fuck away from him.” The shaking stopped, steadied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Putting his hands up slowly, disc still clutched in one hand, Tommy took a step backwards. The stupid fucking disc. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Put it down.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hesitated for only a second before putting it down, the purple stripes chipped and scarred. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George knelt down, the tip of the sword still at the younger boy’s throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A figure was on the ground, slumped against the dark prison wall with broken bits of potion bottles and eggshells around him. His fingers were pale, lying splayed on the ash covered floor. The white ceramic on his face was long gone, revealing a pink scar stretching across the bridge of his nose. He himself was pale, eyes sunken and dark rimmed, cheekbones sharp from severe weight loss. From spending two months in nearly complete solitude. From surviving off of raw potatoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glassy pitch black of one of his half hooded eyes was barely visible, flickering dully as it stared into space. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George forced down bile and looped an arm under the taller man’s, bringing him to his feet. His hair hung limply in front of his face, the blond strands filthy. He was deadweight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span><em>I’m gonna get you out of here.</em> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not Dream. Not anymore.” The voice was Quackity’s. It was almost filled with pity, even if it was meant to sound frustrated. Disgusted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George faltered. He felt dizzy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know that thing consumed him. You know they botched the original ritual. You know there’s more of it than him now. There has been for a while.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.” George’s voice was soft, almost a plea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you let us finish the ritual, at least he’ll die free. He won’t be in pain anymore. We can kill the demon. We can all go back to normal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Not me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut </span>
  <span>up.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re being selfish.” This voice was different. Sapnap. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He made his feelings about us perfectly clear. He didn't need us. All he wanted is power. It’s all he’s ever wanted. It's too dangerous to keep him.. <em>It</em> alive.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George visibly flinched, the sword just barely lowering from Tommy’s throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap took a step forward, sword sheathed and hands empty as he reached for him. Palms open and facing up, slow and gentle, as if approaching a scared animal. His wide eyes met George’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s blood went cold as he saw the deep, raw anger there. The barely quelled rage behind the dark eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took a half step back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seeing the boiling emotions in his friend’s eyes was the closest he’d ever been to feeling afraid of him. Of what he could do. Of what he </span>
  <em>wanted</em>
  <span> to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man leaning against George’s frame shifted the tiniest bit, letting out a small sound of pain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George flinched back from the hands, raising his sword in a curved, swift motion, and bringing it down on the disc, where it lay on the cave floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It shattered, bits of multicolored black flying in every direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span><em>Finally.</em> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone shouted. Chaos erupted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George yanked on the twine holding the potion bottle on his belt, throwing it on the floor. Fragments burst into every direction as a greyish blue droplets settled on around him and Dream, rendering them invisible. They burned a little. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream groaned in pain, dark blood dripping from his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George turned, walking as fast as he could with the man still slumped over him, shouts behind him. The entrance bridge hissed, the doors closing. His only source of light the silver glow from the moon and the ocean of lava underneath him that they left behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna be okay, okay? Don’t give up on me yet. Please don’t give up on me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span><em>Please don’t leave me.</em> </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>dream's mindspace</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was hard. More often than not, Dream, or whatever it was, woke up screaming, the sound deep and guttural that was like multiple voices at once. His eyes would fly open, pure black, and stare into nothing. </p><p>Sometimes it was violent threats. Sometimes he was begging for something. Sometimes he was terrified, other times he was terrifying. </p><p>George had never seen Dream terrified before, and chills ran down his spine from the knowledge that there was something that Dream, arrogant, strong, Dream found so terrifying that he was sobbing and begging. </p><p>There was a war going on in Dream’s mind, two beings struggling for control, and George was powerless to help.</p><p> </p><p>He never left his side, even when the threats chilled him to the bone. His fingers stroking the other’s freezing cold ones, or carding through his damp hair. Attempting to provide comfort in the ways he did “before.” Back when it was just nightmares. The fire in the cold cave flickered violently. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dream was small. Clutched in his hand was a wooden sword. He was maskless and terrified, curled up on the floor of a infinite, lightless, void. He was being hunted, but there was nowhere to run. </p><p>Dream was a dreamon, his eyes pitch black and his hands swirling blacks and greens. He was a hunter and he was without a prey. </p><p>Dream was a warrior. A leader. A god. He could now have anything but it would come at the price of everything. </p><p>Dream was behind a glass wall. His entire existence was lines of an unknown language. His fate was already written. </p><p>Dream was locked in a sword fight with someone. Their mask would fall and his own empty face would stare back at himself. Blank eyes. A brightly colored smile cut across its face. </p><p>Dream was remaking choices he’d never make. So much power but still so powerless. Watching the demon that wore his skin destroy everything he cared about. (He once had everything to lose.)</p><p>Dream was watching a boy with a blue shirt slump to his knees, eyes wide and staring into Dream’s, wordlessly imploring, as a blade was yanked from his chest and then those eyes rolled back as blood dripped from his mouth. </p><p>Sometimes he was the one holding the sword, others he was helplessly on the opposite side of an invisible border, fists pounding uselessly. Blood smeared against the glass from his split knuckles. The blank faced figure would turn around, smiling widely. </p><p>Sometimes he was back in the prison.<br/>
(The ticking was so loud.)<br/>
He smashed the clock, glass digging into his palms and knees.<br/>
(The ticking was so loud.)<br/>
He sat in his own blood and dug his hands against his ears, screaming until his throat was raw, trying to drown it out.<br/>
(The ticking was so loud.)</p><p>He was in his prison lava pool where he used to go just to feel something. He felt everything now, potionless. The lava burned his flesh and he sobbed in pain. </p><p>Dream was<br/>
Dream wa<br/>
Dream w<br/>
Dream<br/>
Drea<br/>
Dre<br/>
Dr<br/>
D</p><p>He didn’t want to fight himself anymore, he didn’t want to relive events through his own eyes, he didn’t want to feel his skin burn anymore, he didn’t want to watch his friends die anymore. </p><p>He begged for death. He was on his hands and knees and he begged for death.</p><p>(Oh how the mighty had fallen.)</p><p>It didn’t kill him, it just stared with empty, blank eyes down on him, mask perfect and intact, until he passed out from sheer exhaustion. </p><p>Other times it did kill him, and he would see visions of his past life flash before him. </p><p>Bits and pieces of the few months that occurred after Tubbo and Fundy accidentally trapped him in his own body. White headbands and blue shirts and purple discs and blue flowers and clear waters and obsidian walls and burning matches and dark prison bricks before waking up again in another cycle.</p><p>(He wished he’d never been born.)</p><p>He wished he’d given up when the dreamon first took over. </p><p>Before everyone left him. </p><p>(Before George finally left him.)</p><p>He wondered what he did to deserve this. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>His eyes slowly focused, vision blurring and swimming as his head pounded. He was lying on the floor. Too exhausted to close his eyes now that they were open. His skin still felt on fire, his knuckles still felt raw and bloody. Images of his dead ex-boyfriend played behind his eyes as they flickered dully in the darkness of nothing. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you give up now?”</p>
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